


Eve's Got Nothing On Me

by C_Lisel



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Crack, Drapple, Help, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Male Bonding, Other, Present Tense, Resolved Sexual Tension, Slytherin Pride, apples gone wild, but also totally serious, chapter two hots up, cos he fucks an apple, errr... parental guidance?, it's kind of not explicit but totally is, this is awful seriously, what, why
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-12
Updated: 2017-02-18
Packaged: 2018-09-23 17:00:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,012
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9667145
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/C_Lisel/pseuds/C_Lisel
Summary: It's hard and tight and wet and he wants it.It's a quiet night in the Slytherin common room and Theo and Draco end up alone by the fire. One thing leads to another and an innocent exchange about apples turns into anything but. It's just two guys talking, just talking. There's nothing illegal about that.Set around fifth year but it doesn't really matter. I would also like to take this opportunity to say that sexuality is fluid and beautiful and experimentation is perfectly healthy and natural. Natural. Organic. Fruity.





	1. A for Apple, A for Aphrodisiac

**Author's Note:**

> I couldn't find someone willing to beta this so all mistakes are my own, I'm sorry. I'm so, so sorry.
> 
> All the usual disclaimers about not owning characters/Hogwarts/a sense of dignity.

“Apparently they ended up getting completely fucked up and had a melon-off. 'Cept they couldn't find any melons so they used apples instead.” 

Theo has been recounting the sordid events of the latest Hufflepuff birthday celebration that got out of hand for the past fifteen minutes now. It was always the bloody Hufflepuffs. They have an annoying habit of boasting that they are the best finders, and for once Draco was going to allow them that particular claim to fame. They'd certainly fucking found their kinks pretty fast- this particular lot were only third years.

At any rate, the line of conversation seems to have engaged Draco's attention. He turns slowly to his friend.  
“A melon-off. That's exactly what I think it is, isn't it?”  
“If you're thinking it's cutting a hole in fruit and balancing it on your hard-on then yeah, you're exactly right.” Theo replies, making a face that suggests these particular boys are not going to be invited to his next birthday party.  
He does not catch Draco's similarly changing expression, although his is more intrigued than disgusted. The first bud of an idea is flowering in his wide grey eyes.  
After a moment Theo stifles a yawn, already having lost interest in his own story. He is just opening his mouth to suggest bed when Draco suddenly pipes up;  
“You could carve a hole through it. Actually it's pretty much the perfect size, isn't it?“  
“For what?” He doesn't think he wants the answer.  
“You know,” Draco quickly makes a suggestive gesture, “manly things.”  
“Oh.” 

They sit in silent contemplation for a while, each lost in their own thoughts. Theo's brow is furrowed and mouth downturned, as though the fire has just stuck two flames up at him. Draco's eyes have acquired an odd brightness about them, his lips pursed in consideration. He seems to have become rather fixated for some reason.  
Then as though he can not stop himself Theo finally blurts;  
“What about the cold?”  
“Maybe that's the exciting part.”  
Jesus.

Draco's eyes have still not lost the eager glimmer in their depths, but Theo's frown only deepens.  
“Would it, I dunno, sting a bit? The juice and stuff I mean.”  
“Don't think so. Not if you're careful.” Distracted again by the multitude of thoughts crowding his head, another tangent reveals itself in a subtle quirk of his mouth. “Juice though...”  
From the corner of his eye Theo can almost see the gears ticking over in Draco's head. The motive for the excitement with which Draco has been approaching the concept is suddenly painfully obvious on his handsome features. As he watches him lick his lips in his peripheral vision all at once Theo really, really regrets ever having started this.  
“No.”  
However Draco seems intent of dragging Theo into his unsavoury imaginings and, ignoring the frantic shaking of Theo's head, continues to put them into words. “I wonder if you could just go for it without lube, seeing as it's already so wet?”  
“Draco.”  
“Are some types of apples juicier than others do you think?”  
Draco is leaning forwards now, his long, aristocratic fingers grasping the arms of his chair as he cranes towards his unwilling conversation partner.  
“Would it make a difference if you went for a Braeburn over a Pink Lady for example? Or, say, an older one from that fruit bowl over a freshly picked one from the kitchens?”  
Theo is now thoroughly at sea, and he's not sure he wants to make it back to this particular shore. It's not surprising, given the way Draco's eyes are ravishing the aforementioned fruit bowl from a distance like some demented Romeo. 

“Mate I am not in the mood to have a discussion with you about pink ladies of any kind, not now, not ever. I'm going to bed, and I suggest you follow me without one single step towards that bloody fruit bowl or I'm telling Blaise everything.”  
“Red would be prettier. Like flushed cheeks.”  
“Walking away!”  
“Wait! Alright I'm coming, jeez.”


	2. Glory Hole

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Things are getting serious.  
> Beware, naughty things lie ahead.  
> Horrible things.  
> Like overstretched metaphors and ill-placed paragraph breaks.  
> You have been warned.

Five days later and finally Draco is alone in the boys' dormitory. One hundred and twenty torturous hours have been slowly ticking away inside his head, counting down to the last Slytherin match of the year and therefore the only day on which he can guarantee at least forty minutes without any risk of being interrupted. Oh, how he has anticipated these precious, treasured minutes; he can almost taste the syrupy sweet relief already.

Tremulously, almost reverently, he withdraws the apple from his pocket. It is perfect. After all, he would only demand the best from the innocent yet oh-so-kickable-faced house elves; only he could get away with such specific requirements for a single fruit. Only Theo would see the request for what it really was. 

Now, it is time to begin. Reaching a sure hand inside his cloak he feels his fingertips brush against something long and hard, and breathing deeply he draws it out. 

On reflection he wishes he'd thought to do the actual coring outside of the bedroom- the water's reflection as it ripples across the blade highlights the paper cut thin edge, and the effect is about as welcome as a banker at an orgy. The apple- his apple- has a mottled facade of green and red and he is pleased to note that he can barely fit his hand around the girth and that at the head is a stem that curves slightly to the left in a way he finds quite complementary to his own. So much hard work and scheming has gone into crafting this moment; all the ducking and weaving behind the back of one of his closest friends, all the incomplete notes and confused spells in car-crash classes because of the anticipation that has been eating away at him for five days. It all culminates now. 

He can hardly stop his hand from shaking as he brings the tip of the knife down against the virgin skin. He has to be precise- he only gets one shot at this. As he prepares to make the breach he finds himself feeling strangely guilty, as though he is about to cut into a sentient being.  
“I'm sorry, I need to make sure I'm getting this right,” he whispers hoarsely in an attempt to soothe these unbidden sentiments, as his fingers gently probe the entry point. He closes his eyes, lingering for a few seconds to allow the rush of anticipatory adrenaline to subside, and, taking a steadying breath, he finally, finally pushing forward. 

Immediately he feels the tip go in and he gasps at the sensation of being the first to break through the previously untouched barrier, the first to mark up his partner for this evening. He breathes heavily through his nose and rhythmically pushes his tool in and out, opening the way to a whole new plateau of euphoria as he inhales the heady scent that floods out of the hole to greet him. He begins to near the finishing point and the reality of what he is doing catches up with him in an rush, setting the pool in his lower abdomen bubbling at the heat of his desire and shame and elation. He is too far gone to really care now, however, and he lifts his face to the ceiling with a heady sigh as he withdraws. 

This experience has already been more than he ever dreamed it could be when he first felt the stirrings of those strange new sensations that night in the common room with Theo, which could have been a lifetime ago from where he is sitting now. He sets the knife onto his night stand to be out of danger from any stray leg or seed that may find it's way into an unfortunate accident. It is time to begin the next stage of the process.

Drawing the curtains almost to a close he settles himself on the edge of the bed, apple reclining against the mattress as he begins to strip off his uniform. It is a relief to for once be able to remove his clothes without resorting to shielding himself from the prying eyes and whipping twisted shirts of his fellow dorm occupants. For now he can just be himself, unashamedly, safe in the knowledge that whatever happens in this bed this afternoon will stay here, forever his secret. Now naked in the semi-darkness and cloaked in the intoxicating scent of his familiar sheets combined with the new, syrupy smell of his bedmate, all he can think about is how badly he hungers to break the taboo. This is entirely new ground for him, but thankfully he has time to take it slow and easy.

As there is currently no standard protocol for seducing produce, he guesses he'll just have to go where his heart (or perhaps dick) takes him. For example he could... talk to it? Dirty talk an apple. He takes a moment to consider this. Of course objectively, in a school where a certain subject's teacher is synonymous with mass murderer and at any moment a caramelised beetle could find itself in your dessert, he supposes he's had weirder.  
“Oh... baby?” He attempts, with not just a hint of self-consciousness. He hopes he hasn't accidentally killed the mood with his display of painfully amateur foreplay. 

Then the apple oozes a drop of thick juice from it's opening in reply, and all of a sudden Draco finds himself responding similarly. Maybe if he put it to his mouth? Like a kiss? That's normal behaviour between lovers, he reasons. Feeling bolder now he raises his hands to his lips and traces the rim of the glistening hole with his tongue. A heady rush of juice permeates the sensitive skin there and he has to stifle a gasp.  
“God, you're so fucking wet,” he murmurs. The taste is exploding across his tongue like an orgasm, and suddenly Draco doesn't give a fuck what Theo or anyone else thinks because this beats any other of his limited sexual experiences hands down, including that time he wanked into Blaise's flannel in revenge for hiding a Fever Fudge amongst his Honeydukes haul. 

As his tastebuds slowly decode all of the subtle nuances of the juice, which has become slightly musky from prolonged exposure, he loses his tenuous grip on rationality completely.  
“I just want you to put myself inside of you”, he whispers throatily, “to fill you up, to, ugh, feel you dripping around me..."  
Unfortunately he seems to have overestimated his stamina in this particular field, and he has barely been able to fully appreciate the moment before his arms are dropping to his sides and he is forced to take a break before an extremely awkward visit to Madam Pomfrey is in order. He cringes as he imagines his dormmates' ridicule of him if they ever found out he'd creamed himself before even reaching second base, though he would rather have an everlasting Bat-Bogey hex put on him than let them discover just what kind of pies he had his fingers in. However, he takes comfort in the knowledge that even if the final goal ends up being made out on the pitch before he manages to fully reach his own it will not be too long before he can try again. especially now he has got a taste for what he likes.

Trembling, he gazes up unseeingly at the jade skies soaring above him as he talks himself into a fever pitch. Against the covers the contrast between the sea of dry, spongy fabric at his back and the smooth, cool piquancy that's taken over his other senses feels overwhelmingly sensual. The good grace and decorum he has had drilled into him since birth is unravelling within him in time with the pounding of his heart, and the dawning realisation of what this indulgence means for the wider implications in his life only elicits a more elated response in his already overwhelmed body and mind. 

Fuck normal, he exults. Fuck you dad!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kudos for the thrill of it. Even if you hated it, cos fuck the system. Viva la pomme!


End file.
